


Pirate Hats and Poorly-Named Horses

by skyr_gobbler



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Canon Era, Family, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyr_gobbler/pseuds/skyr_gobbler
Summary: “Uncle Arthur!”Arthur jolted, to Hosea’s amusement. A very thrilled six year-old was beaming behind him, gesticulating wildly in the way only six year-olds can. Young Jack Marston seemed a little too excited for Arthur’s taste. “Hey, there, Jackie. What’s got you so happy?”“You’re Captain Flint!”***Or, Jack and Arthur’s camp adventures.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan & Jack Marston, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	Pirate Hats and Poorly-Named Horses

“You’ve been making some interesting fashion choices as of late,” Hosea told Arthur, eyes fixed on the tricorn hat perched absurdly on his head. Arthur didn’t smile, but his eyes glinted with humor. “Sure,” he said, scratching his unshaven cheeks. “Found it in a rotten shipwreck south of here. Weren’t an easy task gettin’ it out.”

Hosea folded the corner of a page and set his fanciful crime novel down on his lap. “It’s genuine? Could be worth something. Not much, but something.”

Mister Morgan crossed his arms like a teenager. “Nah. I’m keepin’ this beauty. Accentuates my roguish—”

“Uncle Arthur!” Arthur jolted, to Hosea’s amusement. A very thrilled six year-old was beaming behind him, gesticulating wildly in the way only six year-olds can. Young Jack Marston seemed a little too excited for Arthur’s taste. “Hey, there, Jackie. What’s got you so happy?”

“You’re Captain Flint!”

Hosea snorted. 

“I’m a pirate?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“Yeah! And I’m–I’m Jim!” Jack’s hands slapped comically on his face. His eyes darted around fervently.

“What are you looking for?”Hosea asked.

“A coat, Uncle Hosea. For Jim. I can’t wear this! I would be the stupidest looking pirate ever.”

Hosea smiled sardonically. “I think Arthur’s got you beat there, my boy.”

“Shut up,” Arthur grumbled. “And besides, Jim were a treasure hunter, not a pirate. You wanna be a pirate, you should be Long John Silver.”

Jack gasped, affronted. “I _won’t_ be Long John Silver,” he said defiantly. “He’s evil.”

“Pirates are evil. Hell, I’m evil.” Arthur paused, then laughed, stretching it out to the point where even Hosea was unnerved. His eyes popped crazily, nearly out of his skull. He raised his hands above his head and splayed his fingers to cast shadows on Jack’s terrified expression.

“ _And I’ve come for yer treasure, Jimmy Hawkins. Arrrggh_!”

The boy giggled and ran, Arthur close behind. He made sure to keep a bit of distance, letting Jack take the lead. Eye-rolls and suppressed chuckles greeted them as a madly grinning Arthur chased him through the camp.

Right into Miss Grimshaw’s freshly-laundered skirts.

“My Lord!” she managed, before being slammed into the dirt by a child-shaped cannonball. The Count nickered somewhere above them, concerned.

Now Jack really was terrified. Arthur was, as well, quickly offering a hand to Miss Grimshaw. When she didn’t take it, Arthur pulled up Jack, hands protectively curled around his ears. Susan stood, futilely brushing off some of the grime. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

The tirade that followed would go down in history, or should have, at least. Its sheer magnitude, its sheer fury, was, in a word, petrifying. The two were frozen to the spot, enduring the full, burning wrath of Miss Grimshaw’s endless rage. Arthur would never admit it, but for the next few days, his hands would shake ever so slightly when she called his name.

Dutch thought it was the funniest thing he’d seen in months.

***

Charles gestured to Arthur’s new horse, hazelnut and beautiful and extremely spiteful. “You know what to call it yet?”

Jack was very conspicuously eavesdropping behind a young pine. He had gotten a splinter in his thumb and was doing a bad job of muffling his cries.

“Maybe,” Arthur replied. “Was thinkin’ about Theodosia, or some such.” His mouth twisted. “Or Susan. Mean ol’ thing, it sort of fits. ”

“I don’t think it’s a great idea to provoke her again, Arthur,” Charles warned. “I could hear her yelling from Valentine. Probably what attracted the Pinkertons, honestly.”

Arthur gingerly attempted to pat the mare. She had murder in her eyes. “Oh, he jokes! Didn’t think you had it in you.” The horse glowered, as much as a horse is capable of glowering. He quickly backed away.

Charles huffed. “Least I have the sense to steal an animal that doesn’t feel the urge to kill me,” he said defensively.

“I cannot argue with that,” Arthur conceded. “But Taima wasn’t the result of thievery.”

Jack stepped out from behind the tree, thumb bleeding. Apparently there had been a successful, if messy splinter removal. “I have an idea for a name,” he said proudly.

“Jack!” Arthur feigned surprise. Charles was tempted to slap his forehead in exasperation. Or Arthur’s forehead. Really, he just needed to slap something.

The boy pressed on. “What about Mud?

“And why Mud?”

“‘Cause. Y’know. He’s brown. Like mud.”

“Guess you didn’t have to think too hard. The horse is a female, by the way.”

“She’s brown like mud. But she’s a lady.” Jack’s nose screwed up in concentration. “So really, her name should be Mud Lady, but Mud for short.”

“I cannot argue with that, either.”

“Well, maybe you should argue with that,” Charles butted in. “You’ve a talent for it, anyway, from what I’ve seen. Why not put it to use?”

Arthur whirled to face him. “Why are you actin’ so goddamn sour today, Charles? Even Mud’s less irritable than you.”

The horse whinnied, pawing at the ground.

“I think she likes it,” Jack asserted.

Charles looked exhausted. “Mud it is, then.”

“Pshh,” Arthur dismissed. “It’s a fine name, Jack. Sort of... natural.” He ruffled Jack’s dirty hair.

Jack beamed. Charles did not.

“What was your first horse named?” he would ask later, hands running through Mud’s mane. Arthur was smoking a stale cigarette, watching her carefully. Sunset washed his face orange.

“Initially? Horse-ea,” he admitted. “Uncle Dutch gave him to me when I was 16. Splendid creature, despite the awful name. I chose it to piss Hosea off.” Arthur blew dry smoke out of his nostrils and coughed deep in his chest. “Don’t be a teenager, Jack.”

***

“You’ve been hanging around with Jack a lot, recently.”

“Marston,” he greeted flippantly. He tried very hard to make sure his voice didn’t slur. It almost succeeded.

“Yeah. My name. And Jack’s name, too. Last I checked, ‘ _Morgan_ ’ is a couple letters off.”

He ignored John, focusing instead on Uncle’s sleeping form across from him. Orange firelight beautifully illuminated the string of drool dangling from his lips and wetting his beard. Hopefully he hadn’t pissed himself, because Arthur, as the only sympathetic man awake, would have to be the one to haul him to his tent.

“You’ve gone deaf a little early, Morgan.”

Arthur finally raised his eyes to meet Marston’s. “M’not deaf,” he said shortly. He wasn’t willing to risk John hearing the alcohol dragging his words. He took another swig of cheap beer.

John cocked his head and nodded. “Good. Means you can answer me.” He eased himself down across from Arthur. The campfire’s smoke obscured his expression, but Arthur could assume it wasn’t a patient one.

“This whole gang. This whole sooorrrry lot.” Arthur opened his arms to gesture to their surroundings.

“What about it?”

“All of ‘em. They’d be better fathers than you. Even,” he laughed under his breath, “even Miss Grimshaw.”

“Grimshaw’s a woman,” John said, off-put.

Arthur squinted. “News to me.”

“Tch. You’re a mean drunk. Ain’t any point in any kind of real discussion.”John pushed himself up off of the log.

Arthur grinned. “You’re bein’ so mature now! When’d that happen? Almos’ like a real adult, and not a yeller coward that abandoned his family.” He balled his fists. He needed the pain of his knuckles breaking against John’s nose.

It spoke volumes that John said only, “Don’t choke on your own vomit tonight, if you can. Dutch wouldn’t be pleased.”

“Dutch is beginning to shape up like a proper Captain Ahab, Misser Marsson. Ain’t nothin’ exists could please him anymore.” He coughed, quietly at first. The coughs crescendoed, wracking his body and shaking his hand so violently he dropped his beer.

John sighed and left him to his spilled drink.

Alone in the dark, a man whispered to himself.

“Ain’t nothin’.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little apprehensive about posting but here it goes. I’m very new to fan fiction so it’s a little daunting lol. Critique encouraged!


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